“Thisisall my stuff,” I muttered, tossing the bag of wet clothes on the floor.
“Shit. If I’d known you were this poor, I wouldn’t have spent yer five dollars.”
“At least you ate.”
His stomach growled in response to that.
“You did eat, right?”
“I had more of a liquid lunch.”
“Of course you did,” I said, washing a bit of dirt from Roscoe off my hands in the kitchen sink. Since I had some extra cash, I wanted to order something to eat, but there probably wasn’t anything open at this hour, and deliveries were too expensive anyways. After opening a few cabinets and grabbing anything edible, I laid it all out on the counter. I was going to save it all for a rare lunch tomorrow, but there was a hungry werewolf in my living room, for some absurd reason. “I’ve got canned tuna and bread.”
“Hell yeah. Whip that shit up,” he said, leaning over the counter. His excitement quickly turned to flat-eared disappointment. “Where’s the mayo?”
“What do you think this is, Benihana? I told you, I have tuna and bread. Do you want it or not?”
“I really shouldn’t have spent that money,” he muttered, looking at the can and half a loaf of white bread. “All right. I’ll have one of yer sad tuna sandwiches.”
“You know what’s even sadder? No sandwiches,” I said, pulling out my can opener before getting to work on the meal. “Why are you homeless? Couldn’t get a real job?”
“Oh, I got a job,” he said.
I stopped opening the can at the halfway point and glared at him.
“I work as a bouncer at The Booby Trap. The girlfriend kicked me out, so I didn’t have a place to stay.”
“Get the fuck out of my apartment!”
“What? I wasn’t lyin’ or nothin’. The bitch took all my money, and I don’t get paid ‘til Thursday. I just needed a place to crash while things cool.”
“I’m such a gullible idiot.”
Roscoe looked down at the can, tapping his fingers against the counter. “You gonna finish opening that?”
I had never felt the kind of rage that was brewing in my chest, but being around this werewolf brought me to entirely new levels. Part of me wanted to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until he stopped breathing, but he’d probably end up laughing it off.
“Yer face is kind of red. You gettin’ sick or something?”
“Something like that,” I grumbled, draining the can before spreading the tuna on two pieces of bread.
“You gonna put a couple more pieces on that?”
I picked up the tuna-covered bread, folded it in half and shoved it in his face. “No. I’m saving that bread for toast tomorrow.”
He stuffed the entire thing into his mouth. “You gonna actually butter it, or will it be another disappointing culinary experience like this one?” he said with his mouth full.
“You’ve got one hell of a set of balls on you to be complaining.”
“I mean, mayo cost like, what? A couple bucks?”
“I hate you so much.”
Roscoe grinned with chunks of food in his teeth, folded the other sandwich, and took it all in one bite.
“I need to grab some towels for you to sleep on,” I said, walking into the bathroom linen closet. “Don’t touch anything.”
“I’ll try not to touch any of the three things you got in this place.”
